And in the Aftermath
by KrimsonKitsu
Summary: "I can claim that I want to fix Charles Xavier, but we all know that's a lie…" On a rainy night after the dust in Washington has settled, two former allies meet, each seeking a solace lost more than ten years ago. Spoilers for DoFP. Rated T for language
1. Prologue: The Sword and the Hammer

Author's note: Not that I think a lot of people had read this to begin with but I wanted to rewrite the prologue. Erik is a difficult man to get a hold on, and I wasn't thrilled with my first whack at it. Hopefully, this is better. I still wanted to work on this story, but I needed to get off on the right foot. As always, critiques are welcome.

~~~xXx~~~

Prologue: The Sword and the Hammer

I can claim that I want to fix Charles Xavier, but I think we all know that's a lie.

I am an instrument of death, of blood and revenge. A sword is a tool for destruction; it cannot create anything other than loss. I can hear him in my head, wistful and exasperated and even a bit fond: _A sword can be melted down, Erik, reshaped into a tool to build. You can be reshaped too—if you chose to._ I still hear his voice so clearly and there are times when I can't help but wonder if he'd found a way back in after all. There's a comfort in the idea, having him with me, still pleading for the better man he believed so strongly in. (I know better of course, his voice is nothing more than a weak echo, I severed that bond nearly a decade ago.) I also know the inescapable truth—metal can be reshaped, repurposed, molded into something completely new. Humans are far less malleable.

Not that you could ever convince him of that. If I am the sword, he is the hammer. His power is frightening in its potential; he could be a great weapon, a destructive force more terrifying than the bomb. And yet, he only seeks to construct, to bring together, to unite.

I cannot understand him. He, who sees the darkness in humanity more intimately than any other being, will lay down his life in their defense. I had warned him, years and years ago, that such idealism would destroy him in the end. I'd seen it time and time again—I saw it in the ghettos, in the eyes of our leaders, so blinded to the cruel intentions of our captors, I saw it in the trains, in the lies the passengers whispered into each other to shield themselves from their fate, I saw it in my father, right up until my sister was ripped from his hands and shot in the street (deemed too weak to complete the trip to a more systemic death.) Every being wants to believe in the good of humanity, despite all evidence to the contrary. They carry that belief with them like a talisman, like a prayer to blind themselves to reality. I have seen what comes of such beliefs, and I have abandoned faith—in God and in man.

Charles may have stumbled, may have chosen to hide in the darkness, to bury his head in the sand, but I never believed for a second that he would chose to abandon his faith. Men like him cannot waste their lives wallowing in self pity. He may fear the pain, the burden, the promise of future loss, but wallowing does not suit him. You do not leave a hammer out to rust, it is meant to be used.

I tell myself that I need him; he is the light, the unifying force that will draw our brothers and sisters from the shadows. If I intend to build an army, I need soldiers in my ranks. I tell myself that I must fix him for that reason. But that is a lie (we all know it is a lie) for two reasons:

I cannot lose my friend to the same darkness that consumed me

And I cannot fix him.

~~~xXx~~~

Thank you for reading. I promise more to come tomorrow. Until then, please enjoy and as always, reviews are earnestly encouraged.


	2. Chapter 1: Downpours and Echoes

Chapter 1: Downpours and Echoes

There was something incredibly cathartic about the rain. Charles sat outside, relishing the feeling of being completely and totally alone.

True, it was nice to have a full house of mutants once more—the sound of children and teachers echoing through the halls filled an ache that Charles hadn't even realized was there. If he let himself, he could almost forget that life had been any different.

Except that it had. Even after all those years, Charles would turn to speak with Raven, he still tried to rebuke Sean when yet another priceless artwork met a tragic end (and he could almost hear the boy's defense—"If you don't want your art destroyed you probably shouldn't have it out while we're training.") And he still set up the chessboard for a match that would never occur.

That was the foolish one; the act that truly spoke to his mental state, though only Hank would understand the significance of it. And if he had noticed Charles' late nights, staring at chessboard that had no moves made, well… he never mentioned it.

Charles got to his feet, muscles sore and sluggish as he stepped out from under the protection of the patio. He didn't have long to enjoy his current state and he was not about to waste it sitting—there would be plenty of time for that. The drops hit his in a torrent, stinging where they contacted bare skin. Charles laughed at the feeling, the sound lost in the sharp staccato of rain against the patio.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see a slight blue frame and a mop of red hair dancing in a rain shower long passed. He could still hear her squeals of delight as he chased her through the manicured lawns, colors bleached by the rain and the grey hue of twilight. He remembered her hand, gripping his tightly as they escaped into the woods, the trees closing in around them, filling their noses with the smell of wet pine. In that instant, it was easy to believe that there was nothing left in the world but the pair of them, the shroud of rain and the cradles branches and bushes that encircled them.

_No matter what happens, Raven. I'll always protect you…._

Charles actually laughed bitterly. "Ah, Raven… I wanted so hard to be a good brother… How did I fail you so completely?"

"You chose humanity over her."

Charles was certain that he was dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time he'd heard that voice in his head. It seemed to be a favorite of his conscience, whenever it chose to torment him over his many failings in the past years.

"Oh, Erik. Leave me be. I have no patience for ghosts right now. Torment me some other night," he said, dismissing the voice with a wave of his hand.

"Would you rather me come visit you in the hospital while you die of pneumonia?" Came the increasingly wry response, and the unmistakable sound of footfalls on stone.

Charles' eyes snapped open and for a moment, he worried that he'd finally lost his mind. Because the man before him _shouldn't_ be there. And yet, there he stood, dressed not in his garish costume, but in a soft black turtleneck and well-worn khakis, looking so familiar that, for a moment, Charles could forget about everything that happened. His eyes were still striking, peering out from under the shelter of his umbrella. Charles frowned, unsure of what the protocol was in this situation was.

"Do I need to sound the alarm?" He asked softly, even as he backed into the patio, giving Erik space to do the same. The metal-bender did so without hesitation, shaking off his umbrella before snapping it shut.

"Relax, Charles. I'm not here for any official purpose," Erik said, hooking the umbrella on the railing and sitting down at the patio table and gesturing for Charles to do the same. Charles hesitated for a moment, frowning at him. Finally, he sighed and sat down, doing his best to camouflage the weakness in his limbs (as it was, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get back up without help.) But if Erik noticed, he didn't mention it. Instead, he crossed his legs, his head resting on a cradle of his fingers as he surveyed Charles, his face contemplative, as though he was the telepath.

"You should have called," Charles said, after a tense pause, pushing the wet straggles of hair form his eyes. He wanted desperately to look anywhere else, but doing so would have been a surrender. They were playing a new sort of game, it seemed, and Charles refused to be backed into a corner.

"Why?" Came the flat response, and Charles couldn't read the ulterior meaning behind it. He simply seemed curious.

"I would have brought out the board," Charles shrugged. "We could have had ourselves a game."

Erik's brow raised. "The last time I suggested a game, you punched me."

Charles smiled despite himself. "You seemed to bounce back just fine."

"I've had worse," came the glib reply. They fell back into silence, each regarding the other, sizing up their opponent. Charles leaned on the arm of his chair, his fingers pressed against his temple in an all too familiar gesture.

"You forgot your helmet," he commented.

Erik's expression darkened and he leaned forward, his hands clenching on the table between them. "It appears that I don't need it," he replied, his jaw set in anger. "You decided to take the coward's way out after all. To hide away from your gifts, for what? Are you that scared of your potential?"

"Yes."

Erik stiffened, not expecting Charles to answer so quickly. His eyes narrowed, looking for any sign of trickery. But Charles just sat in front of him, composed and as unreadable as marble. He was different from the broken man that had freed him from the Pentagon, but he was certainly not the man who had fished him from the water all those years ago.

"Fool," he finally replied, venom in his voice as he sat back in his chair, disgust building in his chest. "How can you hope to guide the future of our people when you refuse to embrace your own power?"

Charles just smiled faintly, but there was a shift in his eyes, a pain that Erik couldn't place. "I cannot guide anyone if I cannot escape my own mind," he said softly. "Erik… please… sit down."

The other man blinked. When did he stand up? What did he intend to do to his old ally? Hit him? Comfort him? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel a weak tendril of Charles' mind, a mere echo of the calming presence that had filled his mind so many times before. It was so fleeting that Erik wondered if he was simply imagining it.

He opened his eyes to see that familiar apologetic smile. "You're right, Erik," he said after a long pause. "I am the worst kind of hypocrite. For all of my pretty words, all my carefully built ideals… I couldn't help those in my care. I couldn't help Sean, or Raven… and I couldn't save you, I couldn't pull you out of your own hatred. For all my lessons on control, I couldn't find the serenity to reign in my own power." His hand clutched at the arm of his chair. "I hid when those I cared about were experimented on, hunted, and killed. I am the worst kind of mutant. But perhaps I can be a better man, not paralyzed by the pain and fear of others, not paralyzed by my own body."

Silence greeted the end of his words. In the pause, the roar of the storm raged, pounding against the patio as though demanding attention from the two men.

"Not acceptable," Erik finally snapped. "The man I know would not hide behind guilt."

"Oh, Erik," Charles said softly, his face a stranger to the man before him. "I am not the man you knew."

~~~xXx~~~

Author's note: Not going to lie, I struggled with a lot of parts in Days of Future Past. I loved McAvoy's performance throughout and he was absolutely heartbreaking, especially in contrast with the confident idealist he'd been in First Class. However, because this movie was determined to try and address some continuity concerns that cropped up between X3 and First Class, it left a lot of questions in my mind. Mainly the fact that Charles and Erik were still recruiting mutants together in X3, and the fact that Charles was still walking. So in my mind, that leads me to draw two conclusions—they will resolve their differences for a time (hurray!), and Charles (for whatever reason) is still using the serum to dull his powers. This is my idea of how that might play out and why. I hope you stick around.

Reviews, suggestions, compliments, and complaints are always welcome!


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